


One Man's Trash

by AndeliaMaddock



Series: B is for... [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bombs, Bondage, Branding, Explosions, Guns, Humiliation, M/M, Multi, Murder, Other, Piss, Terror, anal rape, gangrape, internal come, nonconsensual everything, oral rape, vision deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 07:28:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8003755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndeliaMaddock/pseuds/AndeliaMaddock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jamison "Junkrat" Fawkes is not an easy man to break. But sometimes he bends a little more than he's comfortable with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Man's Trash

**Author's Note:**

> There is a part two. I recommend it.

He's woken up uncomfortable before, upright like this even sometimes, really depends on how bad exhaustion got before he fell off the log and into sleep most of the time. Junkrat couldn't remember being exhausted though. And he couldn't see a goddamn thing, but the pulse in his head that makes little spots of light flare up in lovely pseudo fireworks.

He grunted and shifted, and felt at the binds on his arms. Rough rope, course and painful against the skin. A breath in, a sharp inhale, and he felt how raw his skin was. "Whatever you bastards are planning, it ain't gonna come through for you." That voice didn't sound like his. It was, but tight, pained out of a raw throat.

Gunpowder. Smoke. Explosions. He was used to these things. His entire life was a bloody litany of it all.

At least they hadn't gagged him. Maybe he'd get a few words in, really piss the fuckers off. He grinned, and scraped a dry tongue along sharp edged teeth. Most people shuddered, he knew by then, when he did that look.

But no response made him a tick anxious. More than the bonds, more than the bright light that barely filtered underneath the blindfold when he shook his head a bit. He was alone. Or, more probably, they just watched.

"Hog'll come and wreck you, mates." A warning they likely knew all too well, if they'd gotten him this far. He grinned wider, and his voice cracked out, "Can't wait to see the bits you all make!" A laugh, sharp and high, and his. He felt more regular now. Good ol' Junkrat. Mad, loud, and cheeky as they come.

He didn't feel fear. Fuck fear. He was a junker. A Junker.

Footsteps.

He imagined it was Suits what did it to him. Probably those were leather boots or shoes. Fuckers.

Tiles, definitely tiles. This was a fancy place, probably. Likely a checkered pattern. Something to break the monotony under very likely to be fluorescent lights.

He spit onto the no doubt tiles, and smirked a toothy smirk in the direction of the Suit. "Can't wait until Hog gets here."

"You seem certain he'll come for you." Not an Australian. Not a Junker definitely. This was a Suit voice if Jamie ever heard it. Probably imported in to try and claim the big bucks bounty that hung over his and Hog's head.

He scoffed. "Me 'n' him, we're two of the same kind. Not like you, and that army a Suits you all fall in line with. We're not like you. Loyalty. That's what we've got." For the first time in his life. Someone to trust. Thick and thin, that was him and his Hog.

"Loyalty. And a penchant for destroying things with your filthy hands." That voice, some sort of tamed Eastern European accent, but Junkrat ain't real particular about the where's and what's on those.

"What can I say? I've got talents." He opened his mouth up in a wide smile, and showed off his full set a teeth. "And I think you'd be a lot better off if you'd just let me go, and we could just play nice and forget all about this. Trust me, it'd be loads better for you, and whoever you're working for, if we did."

"That will not be happening." They must’ve crouched, their breath puffed out in an unsavory caress on his neck.

Even with a layer of settled smoke that shields him, he can feel it. Warm. He doesn't shiver, he won't. He shrugs as best as the binds allow, despite the dragging pain in his wrist and elsewhere. "Suit yourself, Mate. Hah!" Hog would normally grunt at that, grumble something about it not being funny. That only made it funnier, and he laughed to fill the space where nothing stood, and its absence panicked him.

The Suit simply stayed in place. Breath in, breath out.

"You're a real weird one, ain't ya?" He leaned forward, definitely not afraid. "Go on, enjoy the eau de Junkrat." Another laugh, another line Hog should have reacted to.

But no, it was good, he was glad Hog hadn't been caught by Suits.

He licked his lips, and settled back into the wooden chair. Give him a minute alone, fully alone, and he'd break this thing with his-- Oh. He didn’t have his prosthetics. He should have known, should have felt it, but they'd become a part of him. A part that he could take off when necessary, true, but a good part of him. He was used to their weight, and also not when he was well and alone and ready to tuck in for a bit of rest.

 

A part they could also take off, evidently. Or maybe they’d never bothered to grab ‘em when they’d nabbed him.

 

Junkers were nothing if not creative. He'd just wriggle his way out, and given enough slack, he'd slide on out the rest of the way. No problem. He'd gotten out of worse messes.

"I think. I think you should take a bath. You are filthy. Dirty rat, you play in the sewers and smoke." Their voice wrapped around him, and made him lean closer to hear it all.

Oh, pfft, that was their torture? Strip him nude and plop him in some water? Please, Hog did that whenever they went incognito. No big deal. So another bloke got to see his wang. He'd go buck naked in battle if he was able, if that didn't invite his junk as a target. Unfortunately, it did, so he settled on shorts most of the time.

A touch. Light, almost a gentle caress. Then a hand yanked at his hair, and pulled far too hard. Forced him forward, until his knees crunched to the hard floor and the chair held fast and forced him into an even more uncomfortable position, kneeling.

He opened his mouth to shout.

Water. Cold, brisk, water. Clean, and normally that refreshed him. But here? He blustered and bubbled with rage and depleting oxygen. A gasp. He was alive, and out of the water. "What're you doing?" He shouldn't talk, his mind screamed that was a stupid thing to do.

Air. Deep chug of it, before more water, filling him, choking him. He grunted a bubble out, and tried to hold the rest of the air in. He'd never been a real good teller of time, that wasn't his thing. Time didn't much matter in the Waste. What mattered was a good meal, or what could pass as one, and shelter from the sun. And hey, radiation and creatures and all that too.

It felt like forever, and lungs seared, hot like his barbecue.

Air! He panted, and shook his head, tried to force the hand off. "Fuck you! Get offa me!"

"You have such incredible skin." The hand did move, it slid down to the hollow of his cheek. "Remarkably unmarred. Here, at least. Shame that your face is like this."

"I'm willing to bet yours ain't exactly one to write home a--" Two hands, on his cheeks, thumbs curled behind his ears. Water, water everywhere.

It goes on. Forever, probably.

Time isn't important to him, except for when he's got that little ticker attached to one of his bombs. But then he's got a sense of things. He's got an understanding.

This isn't that. This is the opposite of explosions, until the point where it felt like bombs going off in his chest. The point where he thought maybe he'd need little robot balloons to replace his lungs, if it didn't stop.

He didn't scream anymore, preservation kicked in past his stubborn nature.

He didn't even complain. Didn't ask why. Just took the water, felt it cleanse with a burn inward.

And then he was back upright, drenched and sitting.

For as long as he could, he just coughed and inhaled greedy gasps. Water had been scarce at times in his life. But now it was air, not water, he clung to and kept all to himself.

Footsteps sounded, even filtered through heavy coughs.

He shivered in the darkness, and felt watery vomit stain his chest and down onto his tattered shorts. He didn't sob. He couldn't. But if he cried, it probably mixed with all the other wet that overtook him.

\--~~--

Air horn. Scream.

No sleep. Almost, so close, so close. His head jammed back and smacked against the chair. "Fucker!" He snarled, and blinked a bit. Blindfold slid down, and showed just a bit. Really was a suit on the Suit. He started to look up, but they had to be tall, because he only got to tie.

"I thought you could use a wake up call. You looked thirsty." They adjusted his blindfold.

Darkness, again. "Oh, the bucket again? Real fuckin' funny gag that is, Mate." Another laugh, but it burned his lungs and raw throat. Please not the bucket.

"Would you like a drink?"

"Yeah, I don't know, think I'd like to try a flat white. Not everywhere makes it right, but I'd like to try it. Doubt you'd got what I really want though."

"Hmm. We don't even have a flat white for you. I am not a coffee person myself." They stood close. They knelt. Water sloshed in something metal.

The bucket.

Aw fuck. He turned his head, and shut his eyes, even behind the material that blocked vision. Mouth shut, nose halted from breathing in. He'd be ready this time.

"Take a sip." Metal pressed to Junkrat's lips. "Go on, water is good for you."

He wanted to say something. Wanted to retort. But he held his tongue, and waited it out.

"That is a shame." The bucket tinked against tiles. "I had hoped you would drink. But I cannot in good conscience let you dehydrate. I have something else you can drink."

The bucket threat disposed of for the moment, he smirked. "Oi, I've still got that drink I ordered. You could go 'n' fetch it for me. I'm sure it's not more'n' a few miles away, nearest shop."

"It is a bit further than that for what you want. But I have a better sort of drink for someone such as yourself to enjoy. I have it on authority you like this." A zipper.

Oh like fuck is he gonna let a cock anywhere near his mouth. He grinned, and opened his mouth wide, to better show off his pointed maw.

"You will not bite."

As if.

"Because if you do, I will have to punish your 'Hog'. In your stead. If you are loyal, you will keep this in mind, and keep those teeth covered."

"You ain't got Hog." He sneered and leaned back in the chair, further away from the no doubt closer dick. He could all but feel that presence, right between his legs.

"Oh?" A click.

A TV or some other such device came to life. "I'll destroy you! I'll rip your heads off. I'm a one man apocalypse!" Recorded, but clearly Mako.

He shifted and tried his hand against the bonds. "You won't keep him down. He'll break whatever you got him in, and he'll break you next."

"But until then, it might be wise for you to cooperate."

"Whaddaya even want from us? This about the bounty? We're worth the same dead as alive, might as well just kill us, if'n you're thinking 'bout getting that money." He felt the words tear out, thicker than usual. More panicked, and he was a bit ashamed of that. He didn't want to die. He's gotten close before, and it's quite a bit less than pleasant, even in his demented mind.

 

"Right now, I want you to open your mouth and take me in." It's as close to a whisper as this man seemed capable.

Junkrat wanted to scream. But he could hear Mako breathing, probably hog-tied somewhere in another dark room. He couldn't even grin at the little internal joke. He just opened his mouth, with a lot less energy than before, and waited.

Not long, at least.

It sat heavy and bold of taste on his tongue, and pushed in deeper. Skin seemed to fold back, and revealed a seeping head.

Normally, a nice heavy cock like this was fine with him. Hell, said he was having a lucky day. His hole clenched, his body used to the feeling enough to know that he'd get pounded soon enough. Some twisted part of him felt that excitement well up in his guts.

Junkrat growled, and let it slide further down his throat. Let hands grip his hair and tug him forward. He even kept his teeth nicely sheathed behind thin lips. Little mouth callouses had formed where teeth normally went, and helped with the bit of pain of having such sharp teeth pressed down.

In a fantasy thought, he bit down and bit it right off. He'd jump up, loosen his bonds, and matador bull his way through the door and find his other half. Fix them right up, like he'd wanted Hog to fix him right up.

In reality, he sucked cock and sucked his cheeks in, and made noises he refused to dwell on.

Moans drifted down from the Suit. "You really know what you're doing." Part compliment, part mockery.

All nothing Rat wanted to hear. He grunted, and leaned in to take more. Just get it over with. He didn't have anything left to throw up, he didn't think, so it wasn't too much of a bother when his gag reflex popped up and reminded him, yet again, he needed to breath.

At least there was air. In through the nose on pull backs, out slowly as he jerked his head forward onto the cock.

"And you're almost eager. So very good." Saccharine and thick, despite the violent tugs they did on Junk's hair.

He scoffed inwardly, though he agreed, he was good. But this was just another skill of his. You learned things fast in the boiling Wasteland he called home sweet home. And one way or another, his mouth worked well to help him out of many a tight spot. Or got him into them, but he didn't pay too much mind to that.

Nothing a well-timed explosive couldn't take care of.

Oh damn. There came the throb, and the unsteady irregular thrusts.

At least it was over fast. Spurt, spurt, and in came the cum. Junkrat swallowed, though he contemplated a spit. Finished, he pulled his head back, and angled his head back to see them, if only his blindfold were gone. "Well, I dunno 'bout you, but I've had better."

A chuckle, low and rolling.

Any other time, that'd send a nice jolt to his cock, it would. Especially after his performance. But no, it sent a jolt somewhere else. Everywhere else. "I'd still like a real flat white, actually. Or maybe a cuppa? Rinse out this aftertaste.”

"I have something else for you. Give me one moment." Their voice held a thicker accent, and it sounded sort of Russian maybe. One of those other countries? Something in that area.

He didn't care, really, but it was something to think about, to keep his mind off whatever they had for him. Maybe he'd prefer the bucket.

A cock, probably that same one, pressed to his lips. "Open." Definitely that same one, by the voice and how he's still there. Flaccid this time.

As if the guy would be able to get it up again. Even Hog couldn't that quickly. Not even with Junkrat's best techniques! And a couple a pills. Heh. Though, he'd accidentally made his mate keep it up longer than the bottle recommended. That had been interesting.

"Open." More insistent. More forceful.

Right. Mission here, just for him. He opened up once again, and began to work his tongue over the soft cock. Right up until he felt the wetness. A trickle that turned to a torrent inside his mouth.

Hands held Junkrat's hair. "Ah, ah, not yet. You can stop when I stop."

He gagged, not because of depth, but because of holy piss it was piss. Gag, choke, cough, and he tried to breath but found it just didn't work out for him. He swallowed to make it over faster, but not fast enough to keep it from sloshing out the sides of his mouth.

Over, finally over.

Junkrat sniffed and turned his head. Hands stroked through his hair, and he wanted to fight them, bite them, but he didn't have the energy. "You're a real winner, ain'tcha?" He wanted to brush his teeth. How long since he'd had that desire? Scrub 'em. Just make it stop tasting like watery piss. He'd never insult the beer Mako got him to try again. Tasted not a goddamn thing like piss.

The metal clanged, and water splashed at Junkrat's thighs. "Open your mouth."

"You can't make me drink that whole thing." He still didn't want the bucket. He'd open up for it, but he didn't want it.

"You look so thirsty though. Why don't you drink?" There was a layer of warning on the tone, in the cut of the k's and d's.

He opened his mouth, and let the metal touch down over his split lower lip.

Too much, and he tried not to breath when water moved in. Waved in, a force to be reckoned with that he couldn't swallow quick enough for, even when the Suit didn't angle the bucket too high.

"That's right. Drink."

Fuck him. Fuck all the suited bastards. But he drank, and tried not to think about how full his belly was, and how the water rumbled and sploshed within.

He couldn't drink anymore, not even if he tried. Cough, cough, choke. He turned his head away, and felt the water spill down his front and down some of the mess he'd made who knew how long before.

"More for later then." The bucket settled between his legs, right up against his bony ankle. Damn Suit had taken his boot too. Wasn't enough to take his limbs off, had to go and take his trusty boot too.

He pushed at the bucket, and felt it splash up with cool water over his other leg's end. He kicked. The bucket clanged hard, and rolled away.

A sigh. "That is a shame. I had hoped you could behave." And all that sounded his retreat were those same footsteps.

No punishment? He sat upright, and waited. Something would come. He did a thing, and someone responded. That was how it worked. That was always how it worked.

 

Junkrat squirmed and pulled against the rope. He was clever with his limbs, normally, but they'd been cleverer with the rope. More clever? The word didn't matter. He shook the thought away, and focused on freedom.

Minutes, maybe, passed. Still no punishment.

He renewed his efforts, and struggled with rope that dug through flesh. He was alone. He could do it. He could free himself, and Hog. 

Air horn. A slap to the face. "Ah, so you are awake. I have something very special for you."

Had he even slept? He didn't feel rested. He felt sticky and pissy and more disgusting than he ever did normally. He wouldn't say no to a proper bath, probably. Maybe a little bit. He'd probably say no to it, but he wouldn't mind it after he was in, that was for sure.

Junkrat shrugged. "Whatever it is, I don't really care. Do your worst, Mate. Won't break me."

"Mmm, perhaps. But I think I will get closer than anyone ever has."

"Whatever gets your rocks off." He wouldn't regret the words, even if it got the fucker's rocks off into his mouth again. He'd choke on them, but he wouldn't regret them.

That chuckle sunk in deep. "You were bad, you know. You acted like a little petulant bitch." He was so close, his breath back on Junkrat's neck.

"Yeah, yeah, nothing new there. Ask anyone what ever knew me, they'd tell you that's par for the course, Mate. Nothing to do about it."

"Nothing to do at all? So, you would say you are always a bitch?" His breath smelled almost sweet. It was too close to Junkrat's sensitive nose.

He wanted a goddamn lolly, he did. He shrugged idly, "Wouldn't exactly phrase it that way, were it up to me. But sure. Been called it enough times."

"Then why don't I show you how bitches are treated? Perhaps if you behave, nothing worse will happen."

Those W's sounded so strange outta that mouth. Any other situation, Rat'd be happy to hear this interesting voice. He liked accents different than his own. But here, he had a feeling he'd hold a mighty grudge for a time to go on everyone that sounded even a bit similar.

 

Hand on Rat's chin, yanked it up at a painful angle. Not like Rat could see, on account of the blindfold, but it seemed to be a control thing anyway. Wasn't it all?

Rat sighed. "Sure, why don'tcha then. Sounds like you've got a plan anyway, Mate. Not a whole hell lot of good it'd do if I begged, so I won't bother."

"But your pride doesn't stop you from begging. Cynicism does? Interesting."

"Pride?" He grinned. "What pride?"

"If you beg, perhaps I will not punish you." The hand let go of Rat's chin, and stroked a tender line down to a lightly freckled shoulder. "Beg for me."

"Ain't a chance. You won't stop a damn thing if I do."

"Perhaps I won't, perhaps I will. What do you have to lose?"

"Dignity."

"Ah, yes, the sewer rat who drank my piss wouldn't want to lose any precious dignity."

He turned his head to the side. "Not much choice, when a dicks in your mouth. But begging, that's a whole 'nother thing."

"As you wish."

There were many. He heard the door open, and more footsteps than he could count people. Rat sighed internally, though he didn't bother to give them the satisfaction. "Is this s'posed to worry me? Oooh, lotsa people, everyone wants a piece of me." He pressed a noise out from pursed lips. "Give it your best."

"Is it hot enough?" That familiar voice asked, steely and in control.

"It should be." Such a similar accent, though a higher pitch to it. Maybe a woman. Maybe it didn’t matter much. "Should we get him ready?"

"One final chance, bombmaker. Beg for my mercy, and perhaps if you please me enough, I will have it."

He couldn't see smirks on anyone, but he knew that there were probably those aplenty. "Yeah, I'll pass. Whatever it is, won't be the worst thing I ever get through."

 

"You seem to enjoy laying challenges."

"I love a good challenge."

Too many hands on him. No concern when they snipped through the rope. Scissors, but heavy duty ones, must've been, with how quick the rope snapped.

"Oh, I knew I was popular, didn't realize so many a you blokes'd want me though. And sounds like a lady too, what a lucky man I am!" He giggled, and tried to ignore the way they'd cut through skin in a few of those cuts. He was a nut, but he was tougher than they were. "Oh, careful with those cuts, Suits. Don't wanna scar this flawless skin." Another laugh, and he didn't fight too terribly. There were enough hands on him, he knew he didn't stand a single chance.

Not that he let them leave him nude with no struggle. He gave it a good one-two, and punched one of them in what felt like a nose. Wouldn't be a very pretty looking nose after he was through.

"Shameful." That Suit. The Leader.

"Maybe you should stop playing around back there." He didn't panic. No. He just. Didn't like the hands that held his ass cheeks apart. He'd expected it, but it didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

And maybe he kicked out a might bit. Some unfortunate guy got wrecked right in the balls, if the scream and thump on the floor had anything to do with it.

He didn't fight too terribly.

Until he felt them wipe him down with a wet wipe along one cheek.

They weren't gonna try and tattoo him, were they? No, that didn't make a tick of sense. Something about heat before. Something about heat. Hot.

There was a dim clank of metal.

"Hold him steady. We wouldn't want to have to do this again." That voice curled like a rope around his neck.

They held him steady.

Not steady enough to bear the pain. For a moment, it almost tricked his mind, made him think it was just a bit warm, a bit hot, a bit like the goddamned center of a fucking volcano.

He'd lost limbs. He'd lost loved ones. He'd lost sanity.

 

The brand dug deep. Smoke, a familiar scent, clung to his nostrils, acrid and cruel. Flesh bubbled. He felt it blister. Unbearable, but he was a man who could take it. Meaty, putrid, horrible smell. 

"Maybe this 'B' will help you remember what happens if you are a little bitch. B is for bitch."

The pain didn't abate. He couldn't breath. He couldn't see, and it only made the pain roll through his body harder. Tears. Tears that soaked the blindfold as much as The Bucket had.

His throat was raw in a scream, and his nose flared yet didn't let him breathe. Grunt, grunt, groan, he whimpered, and collapsed down. Tug at throat, rope, rope on throat and he couldn't breathe for an entirely new reason. He scrambled and tried to find purchase on the floor, but couldn't get up.

Then he was on his feet again. The Suit, no doubt, held him by the throat and dragged him away.

Rat wasn't a short one by any means, but this one held him aloft like a piece of cloth on the line. Slapped him over a table.

"Rest well."

Chains now, no more rope. Ankle, wrist. Didn't matter his stubs weren't chained. He wasn't gonna move more than a few inches with the tiny bit of give those chains gave. Even if he had the energy.

He sobbed, unashamed to feel it and show it, yet shamed to his core that they could see him torn down so openly.

They'd all feel what it was like to burn.

It'd be their flesh he smelled, charred and crispy, melted fat and muscle that smelled like such a tasty barbecue. The thought of food on the firepit almost made him vomit, though all he had in him was water and piss. Hell, probably all that water had turned to piss in him.

Even through that literally searing pain, he began to feel the spark of pressure on his bladder.

Something told him they didn't offer hall passes for piss breaks.

How did you tell how long time was, when you couldn't see or hear a blasted thing but your own pants and scrunched up grunts? Junkrat tried to just breath, tried to just breath. It became easier as time flowed on, but the pain was still all too real.

 

"Think this'll break me? You don't know the first thing about me." He spat to the oppressive darkness, and that fucker didn't speak back.

Was fine enough. He had his own thoughts. His own pain. His own...

Junkrat didn't have to worry they could see him cry. He just let it happen, just let it happen and felt the pain, the humiliation.

Pride? Maybe in his work. But this was just a body, wasn't like he couldn't just... just replace parts what didn't work anymore.

He giggled. Could you ever get a replacement arse? Just cut it off, and attach something else. Make him more metal than human. Like a bloody omnic. Another giggle, torn through a ragged throat. He pressed his forehead to the cool metal table and shook his head.

Rather die than be a bloody omnic. Rather die than let even one more part be metal, not flesh. Hog'd convince him otherwise, he always had that sense that lasted longer than Rat could make his stretch, but he assured himself in the moment that he wouldn't.

It was just a brand. Cattle took it. If a cow could take it, sure as anything Rat could.

He sniffed, nodded, and tried to ease the feelings down. Just gentle folds, yeah, right back into the pocket of things he didn't think about.

Not that he could get that fucking brand off his skin that same way. It still screamed through his body, unabating, intense as ever. He almost wished he’d gotten a third degree burn. Second hurt like a bitch, but third hurt for a flash, then pulled back frayed nerves and left you with nothing but the idea that something wasn’t right in your body.

He'd seen what fire did to a body, more times than he could count. The lack of light, of anything in his vision, just pulled those images he buried away up to the forefront, no matter how he scrambled for purchase with his shredding body and mind.

Not just images. Smells worked their way up into the corner of his mind he never gave much attention too. They clung and cloaked the scent his own body had bubbled up with. More than just a meaty smell, far more. Nothing like it.

Flaking, peeling, screaming. Sometimes laughter, but sometimes it was the goddamn omnics who did it, and he couldn't handle, couldn't focus on anything but destruction then, oh no.

Copper tang, mixed with burn, burnt organs, burnt bones, charred and crispy.

 

He was best at barbecue. No one could compete with him. He'd even stolen a trophy that rightly belonged to him anyway, shined it up real nice and took it with him on the road. Best in show, best meat cooker. Best.

The skin crackled and peeled on people. If you couldn't get away, or didn't want to, it flipped skin back like the bark of a birch, though so much thicker, so much satisfaction in the way it rolled.

Unless he didn't want it. Like his limbs. He giggled again, though it sidled right up into a sob, and he couldn't rein it back for the life of him.

Crack and peel, burnt like a log, just nothing but bone and he couldn't do a damn thing, pinned as he was.

Maybe he would have begged. To keep his parts, his leg and arm, but no building that had ever collapsed had asked his consent first, and more likely, he was the one who felled it in the first place. He couldn’t remember that so well these days.

He wouldn't have said thing one to that Suit to keep the brand off though, and not a damn thing they did could convince him.

He cackled against the metal, and rubbed his tongue along it. Let them think what they wanted. He knew the type. Always saw. Give 'em a real good show, then.

He was a nut, but he was a tough one.

\--~~--

"Are you thirsty?" Suit.

"Actually, opposite." He kept his breathing steady, and eased a smile over his tense face. "Got a bladder fuller than a flame licked orange peel."

"Such an interesting use of slang." A hand stroked one smooth finger around the no doubt raised brand mark. It followed the gentle curves of the violent B.

"Ain't slang. Just a fact. Heat an orange, make the oils pop out, make a nice lil flame thrower. Found that out as a tot and I've been learning how to burn things ever since." Even if at the moment, he felt cold, so cold. Wasn't just the nudity, he knew. Somewhere in there, he'd passed out. Blood loss, and more, probably. Burns could get nasty, unchecked.

Least he hadn't woken up with a goddamn airhorn again. Or a face slap. Few things riled him more than those.

"Hmm." Suit ran a finger along the burn itself.

Junkrat hissed.

"A man in your vocation, I would think you would be more used to such injuries."

"'M a professional. Mate." Focus. Ah. Focus. "Don't burn myself too often, actually."

"I find that surprising."

He didn't feel as sticky as he had. When he flexed his legs, it wasn't the same sort of caked on pressure as before. "Didja come in, do a surprise cleanup?"

"I had someone tend to your injury, yes. It may take a while to get you how I like. I am invested in my property."

"Oh, how sweet a you. But you ain't even bought me dinner, just how cheap do you think I am?"

"You are actually one of my most expensive acquisitions." The entire hand pressed over the burn. "My favorite Bitch, for now."

Owned. No one. No one owned him. Never. He thrashed against chains, and felt his lips curl back, and spittle cling and fling from them. "Fuck you. M'no one's!" No brand, no man, no one ever. His own. Hog's maybe, if even that.

"Shame. I thought perhaps the B had taught you your place. I should have known you weren't so easy to tame. But I like that." The palm pressed harder, then lifted, and slapped down over Rat's opposite cheek. Fluid spread.

Blood, pus, didn't matter what it was. He wasn't clean. And for once, he wished he was. Junkrat pressed his empty belly flat against the table and clenched his bottom. The added force on his lower abdomen only made one need rise to the top, blistered over the pain of his burn.

He really needed to piss.

"You will learn your place eventually. Or perhaps you need another example of why you should behave? Something like your fat man?"

There was the anger again, flared up even over Nature's Call. "I'll tear your bloody eyes out! Say it again!"

"Your. Fat. Man."

 

"I'll kill you! Just give me half a chance out of these cuffs. One swing, you'll knock right out!" There was the spit again, despite his dry mouth. He tried to tug himself back, but all he could manage was to roll over onto his back with his affected side unchained as it was.

Pain, flesh sticky on metal, cling, burn, pain.

Junkrat bared his teeth and gnashed them. Give him one chance, just one, he'd leave this bastard in a ditch. His blindfold shifted a bit.

A hand, ever so close. Silver glistened in the bright light. S M.

The blindfold shifted back into place before he could see more, see a face, anything else. He grunted, and squirmed until another slap rounded across his high cheek. "You're a coward. Give me a fair fight, I'd have you any day." Junkrat spit at them, though didn’t know if it hit.

"Perhaps I need to remind you that I have your partner as well? Where is your sense of loyalty? Do you want me to go harm him instead? Perhaps he could use a brand as well. Something... F maybe? For Fat?"

Teeth bared again, but he didn't lunge. "Don't touch him."

"He isn't my type, but making him become loyal to me? That would be beneficial. I think it should start with you though. The brains, isn't that it? Some brains, caught so easily, little rabbit."

He couldn't even remember how it had happened. Must have been in his sleep. Must have been. Roadie never would have given in so easily otherwise.

"So alone. So much pain. Let the pain melt away. Let it all go." That same hand, it pressed at his belly, and rolled its way down in a deceptively gentle massage.

Too much, too low, his bladder screeched. "Get offa me, you bloody--"

"Do not misbehave. Just. Let it go." The accent slid words out thickly, with no small tinge of lust. "Release. You'll feel better. And I'll reward you."

Bastard Suit. He grit his teeth and imagined any number of ways he could mix chemicals and make the destruction he'd wreak all the more satisfying. "I won't." His back ached, everything did, but there, that sticky B, begged for him to just roll over. He couldn't with a hand that held him so tightly. 

Maybe he could do a timer bomb and get him from the inside of the toilet bowl? Leave a car bomb, so he'd explode right on his way down his no doubt expansive driveway? Hmmm, something more personal. Something that let the bastard know his death was imminent, that always made Junkrat feel better when the sins had been this fucking egregious. 

"Let it go. Now."

He wasn't a thoroughbred pup. He wasn't a trained mutt. He didn't give a damn if this man wanted something to own, to work, to fuck, or play with, or whatever. He was Jamison "Junkrat" Fawkes and he was owned by no one, excepting himself.

"Perhaps I will have my men go heat the F iron."

"Whatever."

"Where is that loyalty you were so proud of?"

"Been thinking. I don't even know you have him. Could just be a bluff. He wouldn't want me losing my cool, making one another a weakness instead of what we are. Show me proof, show me proof."

"You heard his voice."

"He yells that all the fucking time. Can't get word one in when we're fighting without him pulling those lines. For all I know, you just mashed some sounds together, called it him. I can't see."

"You want visual proof?"

"Whatever, s'long as it's him."

"Fine. But after, you do as I say, do you understand?"

"Sure thing, Mate, I'll just roll over 'n' play dead with you 's much as ya like." Fucking drongo.

"I doubt that." Another slap to the lower belly. "But you will have what you want. It will make you a bit more malleable."

"Yeah, yeah, sure."

A door opened, and footsteps slapped against the tiling. The door shut.

He heard a television turn on, yet again. Definitely Mako's breathing. His Hog.

Some hand, but it didn't feel the same. There were calloused where before Suit had smooth. A tug, and the blindfold moved enough.

 

He could see the telly, behind him, and his very rotund partner chained to a wall. The mask was off, and his face was marred.

Not marred enough.

Junkrat nodded, "Aye, that's him. My whole hog." He angled himself a bit, to look at the other. Definitely not Suit, their suit was a bit disheveled, and they didn't have cufflinks, just a watch that looked gaudy. This, this was not Suit.

Coward couldn't even stand to let Rat see him.

Rat grinned wide, and flipped over. He didn't react, wouldn't react, to the pain of his injury pulled from the table. He just settled in on his belly, and pissed right there on the table. Let the fucker not even be there when he did it.

He wasn't worried about Hog anymore.

Blindfold back on, with a disgusted grunt from the minion. Loser didn't even wear that suit right.

Junkrat wasn't concerned.

"You have relieved yourself, I see."

"Yeah, you asked me too. Felt good, gotta tell ya."

"Oh, you liked it?"

Well now, some might call him dull, but he wasn't that much. He talked his way right around the edges of it, "Oh, dunno. Woulda preferred a real urinal, but hey, not every prison torture chamber can be have deluxe five star accommodations, now can they? As you said, I was an expensive acquisition. Guess ya had to cut some corners, right, Mate?"

"Hmm. That is not quite how it works." That hand, right on his ass again, it danced around the B, and teased with ghost touches that never quite crossed the line between pain and agony. "You have made quite a mess. You seem to like messes. Being dirty."

Definitely a trap. A smart man would keep his goddamn mouth shut. "Oh, yeah, yeah, sometimes. Depends on how good things are going for me, you know it? A nice coating of soot after a long day's blowing things heavens high, it's satisfying. Just ask Hog, can't even get me in the bath unless I got one a them fancy soaking bombs."

 

"You like to soak then?"

"Yeah, nice 'n' warm."

"Then I have something you will definitely like."

Oh for fucks sake, he'd walked into something and he wasn't even sure what.

Within probably ten minutes, there were many sets of footsteps over the ridiculously vocal tiles. More than the junker felt entirely comfortable with, definitely.

"Why don't you just enjoy this then? A nice warm shower for you. Get you nice and clean."

The chorus of zippers was evocative of a time and a place he didn't care to remember. Bodies so close, always close, weren't they?

He heard before he felt. Sighs of relief, warm wetness that tinked against metal of the table. And of course, warmth all over his body, burned into his brand with salty shock.

"Oh, real clever, you had this whole thing lined up, didja?" Fuck them, fuck them. He'd strangle 'em all, stun 'em, and bomb 'em to bits. Let their pieces rain down like their fucking piss.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" The smirk was evident on Suit's face, even without any vision allowed on Rat's part.

"Oh, sure, sure, who doesn't want a piss party? Invite everyone, really." He could deal with it. And if he felt warm everywhere, despite the chill the injury bared over him, that was their fault. He wouldn't, couldn't, think about why.

"And look at you. Enjoying this attention." So close, he was near Junkrat's head this time. "I can see you, squirming against the table. You enjoy it."

Nope, and he wasn't hard. He wasn't, definitely not. Even if a hand reached under all the mess and tugged at him, he wasn't hard.

Maybe a little.

How to best make a bomb. Depended on the type you wanted, really. Was it shock and awe you were going for? Did you just want a loud boom, maybe lots of smoke? Or did you want to kill? Shrapnel did a mighty fine work of pain making, certainly.

 

He'd make sure they lived long enough to suffer.

The hand tugged again, insistent that he pay attention.

"Look at you, little bitch. You're hard. You love this." A hand rubbed up against his forehead, almost cautious. "Admit it, and I can make it all better for you." That same hand turned, twisted its intent. Grabbed him by the hair and tugged his head up as far as it would go with his binds. "Tell me you like whatever I give you, Bitch."

Too easy, and it'd be suspicious. Too hard, and he'd get more pain out of this than he could handle reasonably well. Junkrat smirked. "Oh, sure, who doesn't love the gentle 'ministrations of a complete psychopath?" Actually, if that psychopath was his whole Hoggy hog, he loved it, but that was neither here nor there.

Thank the stars his Roadie wasn't here, he was somewhere there, elsewhere, off in the distance, safe.

He didn't feel so much of the tugs on his hair, the warmth wet that slithered over his worn body.

Rat thought of his better moments, another day, another time, warm in the sand in nothing but his swim knickers with his Mako. His loyal man, the first one he'd actually given half a damn about since things he couldn't and wouldn't think too hard on.

Still a hand pulled, pulled, yanked him into hardness, and into a cusp of shame.

Bastard. Bastard, he'd fillet 'em. Have Hog chain em. Run 'em down with a tire bomb. He'd--

"Pay more attention. Or do you need something more stimulating?"

"Oh, aye, who doesn't love stimulation?" Fuck them all, but he tried to keep what composure he could force up from the wells of his psyche. "Whatever works, yeah?"

There's a time between, he's certain of it. But he feels so hazy, it shifts before him without much cognizance. It pierces him.

It lined up, and pressed in, and didn't give a single damn that his body wasn't ready, didn't want it.

Hog was probably worried sick about him, the big oaf. More than likely, he'd sniff around the trail, figuratively, although literally made sense too with that big heavy mask of his and a nose that always surprised Junkrat. Soon, Hog would come for him.

He would. No one else would.

It hurt, pressure inside his body, an invasion he didn't ask for, even if his sarcastic remarks had bidden it.

He tried to keep still, keep calm, not react. But with every slap of flesh on flesh, every touch to his burn, he couldn't remember to keep steady.

Someone shrieked, a grating annoying sound Junkrat wished would just stop. Somebody shut that bitch up.

Oh. His throat hurt too. Worse than before, even, and maybe it occurred to him for a moment that the shrieks matched the beat of the pain in his throat, and steadily increased as the pain in his rear spiked.

"Tell us you want it." Suit by his face, his voice so familiar now, it overtook everything else and became it all.

But he couldn't think of anything to say here. For once, he was at a loss.

Someone still shrieked. Fuck. It was still probably him. Bit edgy on the ears.

"Tell me you want it, Bitch." Hand clung to Rat's hair, pulled his face up from the slick table. The voice held to hot breath, and smelled rich and herby. And a little bit like a nice buzz.

He wouldn't mind a nice buzz, something to take his mind off that terrible noise. Off the awful sound of flesh on flesh too, and maybe the pain yeah.

"If you do not like it, perhaps I can go have your Hog enjoy it."

He felt the grin on his own face, it tugged up uneven on one side of his lips, and behind the blindfold, his eyes got big. Oh, yeah, Roadie was definitely caught, wasn't he? Hehehehe. "No, wouldn't want that."

SM. Alcohol Rat hadn't smelled before. An accent he'd narrow down one day, that came out during irritation, much like Hog's did. Course, his babe was often irritated, so the accent was more or less strong on the regular.

Compose. Get back in there. Stop that shrieking. He grunted, and shifted a bit on his belly. "Who couldn't love this?" Piss on his belly, back, in his hair, in his mouth too. Yeah, who wouldn't just absolutely love that.

"Beg for it. Bitch." Finger traced a scar on Rat's chin. "Beg for his cock."

He'd escape. Or Hog would find him, and destroy them all. Either was fine.

Junkrat slithered forward a bit more on his belly and nodded. "Oh, yeah, fuck me."

Could just be like when he played rough with Roadie. Could just pretend they'd had a rough trip, and it hurt because he'd hurt others. Hog went hard sometimes.

"Beg more."

"Give it to me." Begging was actually hot, given the right circumstances. Unfortunately, he could feel his cock twitch under the wrong ones too.

"I'm not convinced. What are you?"

He didn't know. He didn't know, and that body pushed so deep into him, and hair ground up against ruined skin. Not ruined, burned. Fire, metal, bubbling flesh. He wasn't ruined.

"Bitch, what are you?" Face so close.

He was never big on self-control.

Junkrat spit into that face.

His face hurt for a moment, rattled into his skull. Then nothing really hurt for a bit.

\--~~--

"What's that smelly thing you drink?"

"Smelly thing?"

"You're drinkin' it now, ain't ya? Got it all ready. Heard that bottle. Havin' a nice fancy drink while I starve here?"

"You would like some food? Perhaps you should behave now."

"Well, if my mother were alive she'd be the first to say, I'm not one to sit quiet and be good."

"Then maybe you won't live long."

"Would be a shame to waste whatever money you put into me, lettin' me waste away."

"It would be a waste if your pride killed you." Suit sipped at whatever it was. Step, step, no doubt exotic leather soles slapped against the tiles Rat had come to loathe. "It is absinthe."

"Oh, seeing faeries are ya?"

"No more than the one in front of me. No. This is highest of quality. From before the turn of the century."

"Oh, bet it's a real fancy buzz you're getting then." He grinned despite the discomfort that continued to hold his entire body hostage. "Must be a real expensive sort, to be that old. Probably, what, old as you?"

"Oops." Some poured out and splashed over the mark. Burned like a bitch.

But he'd been through it for a day at least. Course, that was difficult to tell, what with no light, and constant waking up every time he passed out.

"Come again?" More absinthe.

"Bit of a waste, runnin' it over my arse."

"Maybe it will be your only lubrication."

"Oh, well, don't even bother. You and your mates haven't bothered with that on my account before." He didn't beg, he didn't beg, he didn't beg.

"Of course we have. One finishes, and makes entrance for another easier."

"How thoughtful." Fingers clenched, breath steadied. "Still, probably not the most comfortable lube for you."

"Perhaps not."

"Unless you're into that sorta thing. How much would a bottle a that set you back?"

"Tens of thousands." Suit's fingers traced droplets of alcohol along the B. "There are only a hundred bottles left of my favorite year."

"Oh? What, was it the year you were born?"

Nails dug into flesh. "No."

When he tried too hard, the guy always pulled back. "The year hog was born?"

"He is not over 80, is he?" A twinge of amusement, spiked with a nail along burnt flesh.

He grunted and pushed forward on the table. At least they'd cleaned it all at some point in his time unconscious, but pain lead to sweat, and sweat lead to sticky and uncomfortable. "No idea, he's got that spot o' gray, could be." In his 40s and Rat didn't think too hard about it.

"Silver is a refined color. It's hardly something relegated to only the ancient." More nail punishment. More burning absinthe that cost more than Junkrat's metal arms and legs, by Suit's own admission.

"So, am I to take it you got a spot 'o gray too? Well, you're in good company. Nothin' to be 'shamed a. Man of your age, it's refined. Regal, even."

"What game are you playing?"

"The one where I know you're gonna plow me anyway. Might as well get a little fun out of it." How could a body get used to assault like this? Same way he got used to his hair being on fire, and his lungs constantly burning.

By ignoring it, really, and focusing on the goal. That tended to be things blowing up, him involved, but in this case it was more. It was deeper. The details were fuzzy, but he kept his thoughts focused on them.

"Is this fun for you?"

"Why not?" He pressed his forehead to the table, and pulled in a great big suck of air as they pressed in. Hadn't even heard the zipper go, the Suit was a bit sneaky.

"Do you know what you are?"

Here came the B talk again. B for boy, for bad, for Bitch. For bomb. Bomb bomb bomb bomb bomb, and it hurt enough, his eyes shut and all his body focused on the pain on and in his arse. "You're lil babe, ain't it?"

"Bitch. Say it. B is for bitch."

"Don't imagine too many children's books list it as that way. Then again, what do I know. Never read much children's lit growin' up. Was more concerned with..." Too hard, and he hissed and thumped his body forward. "Survivin'. You'd be surprised what a junker can survive, Mate."

"I am pleased with how hardy your bodies are. Resistant to infections. So durable." He grunted with exertion, and slapped his hips forward into ruined flesh and plump ass.

Not ruined, he wasn't ruined. Junkrat grinned, "Well, certainly did well for us, growing up out there in that waste those omnics caused."

"Speaking of." And there was the curl of his body, Suit pressed with his back over Junkrat, and the heavy material warmed Rat's chilled skin. 

Ah, there it was. Wasn't just an ordinary sadistic Suit, this one was a golddigger too. Didn't just want the cool 25 million, no, he wanted the extraordinary. He wanted what no one could have.

Junkrat grinned. "Ah, I don't even know, Mate. Couldn't figure it out if I tried. But was enough to get a price on my head, wasn't it?"

“Is that true?”

“You mean, you think I’d lie to you when you’ve got me so well ‘n’ truly buggered?”

Suit didn’t reply with more than a shove of his cock. He built that pace up, brick by brick, until it separated Rat from everything.

And he’d be damned, but it felt a bit good. He couldn’t do a thing but take it, and he scrambled for purchase on the sleek metal, but found none. “You’ll blow quick that way. Bit of advice.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Body so close, breath warm on neck.

Popped up the goosebumps, he knew that feeling even without sight. It was just because he was naked. Naked, cold, hurt. That was all, but he maybe rutted a bit, couldn’t fight the stiffness between his legs anymore than the one inside him. “Yeah? Just a real quick lay then?”

“Why not? You are a busy Bitch, you’ll have many to service.”

Oh, good, why not. “Hope they start using a wrapper though. Wouldn’t want you gettin’ something.”

“Worried?”

“Oh, just for you. I know my place, I sure do.” He had to laugh, even with the thrusts, even with all the conflicted thoughts and feelings that stifled him. Junkrat wasn’t the best actor, and his words sounded funny even to his own ears.

“Don’t worry.” There was definitely a ring on Suit’s hand. Something big, shiny probably, and definitely with a nice big stone set firmly in the middle. He caressed Junkrat’s high cheekbone, and lightly scratched through skin. Nothing to make it bleed, nothing to make it really hurt. But it let him know who was in charge.

Not that Junkrat ever gave a damn about who was in charge, if it wasn’t him.

The finish wasn’t really that, just another blip between men. He heard them, with their belts and their zippers and their slick pulls on flesh to keep themselves up. Occasionally, a woman with a large something strapped to her body would pull up, and softer dirty words would enter his mind.

Funny, another time, another place, he’d be really into this. It wasn’t always a fantasy, but it was a nice enough one when he couldn’t get off another way and Hog was sleeping or otherwise busy.

Now, he just thought on things. He could probably slip out eventually. Prideful bastards like Suit messed up, their whole schtick of being smarter than everyone else lead to their fall. He’d already given far more info than he should have.

The other Lesser Suits had too, and all that combined said he had a plan. Give it a day, give it a bit more, and he’d be freed.

“What does this B stand for?” Suit’s voice, though honestly, most of them sounded similar by now. This one stood out though, leader of it all.

He couldn’t think about his plan though, his mind didn’t have a track for that, and for this at the same time. He flipped rails, and grunted, “Dunno. Babe?”

“Bitch. You’re a bitch. Say it.” His hand slapped over the spot.

That never felt good, but his cock wasn’t really listening, and it twitched anyway. Treacherous snake.

“I’m a bitch.” Just get it bloody over with. 

“Do you know what happens to Bitches who don’t listen?”

“Well, I imagine they get branded. Call it a lucky guess.” He wanted to laugh, but there was that thickness in him, too much and so good all in one and he hated more strongly than he’d felt in… longer than he cared to think about. 

“Something like that. But there are other things to do.”

“Well, wouldn’t want you running out of date ideas. I’m just dying to see where this goes.”

“Do not tempt me.”

No, mate, do not tempt me.

\--~~--

They were fools. A whole lot of them, and not a one had a lick of sense. What, he hadn’t eaten in two days, and they thought only one guy was needed for a transfer? Was it because he had two full limbs?

Chuckles punctuated his punch, and a grunt and thump on the floor sounded and gave him the drive to tug his blindfold free.

They didn’t even send a big one in to move him. He was insulted. He’d have to write an angry review about this place. Another laugh, and he dropped to the ground and reached for those keys that hung on a large ring connected to his belt loop. “Thanks for the help. Couldn’ta done it without you!” 

They weakly attempted to sit back up.

He jabbed the keys into their eye. Really dug in there until he was sure they wouldn’t mind his petty theft anymore. Then oops, didn’t look like they wanted to play anymore.

Shame, he was in such a mood to play. All the bright ideas, all the wild thoughts. He beamed, and turned his attention back to the door. He wiped the keys off on their collar, then rooted about in their pockets, keys clung between teeth. Bingo. It was bloody Christmas!

Phone in hand, he quickly flipped through screens and found the GPS coordinates. Sent them right off in a text to Mako. 

Mako: Who is this?  
Rat: im stuck here come get me you stale sack of piss :)  
Mako: On my way

He tapped the side and turned the phone on silent, then clutched it between his right arm and chest, nice and safe nuzzled up in his hairy pits.

Rat began the somewhat lopsided crawl towards freedom. No pain, he wouldn’t feel the pain. Wouldn’t let it hinder him. But it slowed him, he knew that. Kept him from going, just like the lack of four fully functional limbs did.

Doors were a pain in the ass without two legs and two hands, and normally that didn’t bother him. His metal parts worked as well as the rest of him, most days. Not having them was a goddamn pain.

But Junkrat wasn’t the type to idly lay back. He liked to watch things happen, and make them go. And as it was, he got into the hallway without losing any of his items, and crawled along until he got to a corner.

Noise. Footsteps he could almost recognize by this point. He licked at his desert lips and let out a soft sigh.

“What was that?”

Too loud, evidently. 

“Probably Mikhail. He’s pissed he didn’t get the day off.”

“Madocki hates giving days off. My kid was sick for a week and still I came in every day. Mikhail is a whiner.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that.” The voice dipped to a shielded whisper, edged with amusement. “He’ll put you into the dirt.”

“I could take him.” A laugh.

Junkrat slid his body, commando crawl like in those movies, until he got to a door. Strong looking door, heavy lock. He lifted the janitor’s key, and did what he could to silently open it up. In swung the heavy metal door, and it might as well have played a chorus of angels all screeching on their fancy golden gilded clouds.

Supply closet.

His haven for bomb making on the fly.

In he crept, and he pressed the door shut behind him and locked it. Not an easy task, but worth it. Especially if it meant a bit more time, a bit more privacy.

Chemicals just made sense to him. Add a dash of this, a spritz of that, and you had a nice incendiary device ready to blow. On your mark, usually. Like cooking, but Hog didn’t let him work in kitchens anymore. But a barbecue wasn’t a kitchen, so he wasn’t banned from that.

He giggled, and capped a makeshift Molotov. This one had more punch than the regular, and that was exactly what he wanted. Course, he didn’t just want boom, he was interested in all the different sorts of bombs. Smoke, so they couldn’t find him. Noise. Flash. Kaboom. And this was a veritable treasure trove of chemical goodies.

He hadn’t felt this absolutely giggly since Hog had given him that…

Best not dwell on that. He’d see Hog soon.

Ooooooh, could make a lovely chemical bomb with this one. Roll it into a room, lock them in.

\--~~--

Their screams were sweeter than the shrieks that had bothered him so much before. 

He cackled, and the makeshift arm he’d made was taped to the broom, and let him propel the janitor’s cart he rode in down the hallway. GPS said, back room was right where he needed to be.

What a bloody shame he had to blast his way through rooms with tosses of bombs, incendiary devices, and smokers. Oh, and there was a flash one! He bit his bottom lip and grinned wide.

He could go for a boba and milk tea though. Parched, the smoke didn’t really help with that. But he wasn’t too worried. He’d been through worse, much worse.

Oh, and they tried to fire their weapons. Didn’t they know you shouldn’t do that when you can’t even see your target?

More screams, loud and close. Turned out, they’d missed. Or, they’d hit that whiner Mikhail like the two from before seemed to want to.

Another heavy cackle, and he veered a quick corner and tried to tighten it up. No such luck, the cart spilled, and his goodies fell out like toys from Santa’s sack.

Men approached, none looking too happy about it. 

But none who looked like his Suit. Not that he knew precisely what that bastard looked like.

“End of the road.”

He scooted back as best as he could, and tried to stand on his thin multi-broom handle peg leg. Things were taped all the way up to mid-thigh, and gave him a five legged advantage over the regular two legged chumps coming for him. The phone buzzed twice. “That might be, but I’m keen on making my own roads where I can.”

A gun leveled itself in his direction. Smoke cleared a bit, and more men stepped from behind it. “Do not think of it.” More clicks, more guns at the ready.

“You know what they say about guns, don’t you?”

Narrowed eyes. So many sets of them.

“The bigger they are, the harder the compensation.” He grinned. “Go ahead and shoot. See how we all go sky high.”

“You are bluffing.” That accent was thicker than his Suit’s.

“Hardly. One spark, and half of these bombs’ll go. I don’t mind it a tick, but you might not like it so much.” Try him. Course, that was false. If that were the case, how could he still have those bombs when all the others were going off?

But Suit didn’t hire them for wits, he clearly hired for brawn. Or something. Not even all of them were as big as he’d expect this sort of place to have.

Another two buzzes. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned.

“Expecting something?”

“Just a little bit--”

Closer.

He never got over the rush, the pleasure when a wall you wanted to come down tumbled like Jericho, and dust and chunks of brick and mortar and steel popped free. Rained down. He stood there, for just that moment, his eyes focused on the group. Surprise, fear, pain.

Moment passed, he turned, and bolted as fast as his starved body and makeshift limbs let him. Fast enough to get to the passenger left side, and swing himself in over the top bar of the Jeep. “Good one, Roadie. Haven’t let me down once.”

Typical Hog, replied with a sarcastic remark, and gunned them outta there faster than the bastards could get their bearings.

And this sort liked to pretend to be professionals.

Pathetic.

Gunfire didn’t bother him, he ducked and covered, and let Hog do the driving with a bit of helpful hints. “You call that steering? Christ, I could drive better without any limbs. Almost fell out!” 

It was good to see Hog again. He leaned in close, and glanced over the seat back at the advancing bastards.

Over the remains of a chain link fence, and through a bit of forested area, onto an unkempt dirt road.

He could hear the sound of trucks in the distance, reving engines, and quick tires.

“Don’t… don’t let ‘em.” He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t afraid. Hog could get them out of there. “Shoulda grabbed a couple a bombs. My mistake.” Should have thought faster, should have thought better, should have--

“Breathe.”

He did as commanded. He did as commanded, and followed the tone.

He wanted to do as he was told here, he did. 

Why did it turn his belly into such tight knots?

He shut his eyes, useless in this, unable to think, unable to…

“It’s alright. They won’t catch us.”

They wouldn’t catch up, Hog had said it, and it was true.

He lay still and pressed his body up against Hog’s as nice and tight as he could. “Could use a bath when we get someplace. Nice hot tap. Scrub it all down. Won’t even fight you, Roadie.” 

“Never thought I’d see the day you volunteered for that.” A quick turn onto another road, and Mako drove like he totally knew where he was going.

Jamie knew he probably didn’t, but chose to believe he did. Guy knew a lot of things. Guy knew so many things.

Why did his stomach hurt so much more than it had in those last few days? Why was it all tangled up, worse than his head even?

He barely registered turns, twists, in the rural road. Hog’d grab him a little, to keep him from a nasty tumble out of the Jeep. But otherwise, he just curled against the warmth and didn’t pay too much mind to it all.

Junkrat shut his eyes, and let it all ride past him. Time shifted. It snuck past him, and snuck him into Hog’s arms, carried almost gingerly over a doorway and into a nice large room. Hotel, motel, whatever. He never much paid mind to the difference, but he knew a rented room when he saw it.

“Aww, this is a nice lil place, ain’t it? More than we normally spend.”

“It’s bathtime.”

B is for…

**Author's Note:**

> I've been through a lot in my life. This helped me sort through that stuff. Part two is where it comes back together again. I needed that. I need that.
> 
> I'm over at the VERY nsfw blog, http://pansexualoverwatch.tumblr.com/ if you're interested in sending me more prompts.


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